All language subtitles for Small.Axe.S01E04.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTG

Follow.

To the right. Stop there.

To the right.

And right.

Stop there.

In.

It stinks in here...

Come in, my youth.
Come here, man.

Cha. Me name's Simeon.

It was Alex, don't it?

You want a tea, or something fe drink?

The bottom bunk is mine, yeah?

For the proximity to the shitter.

Boy, me 'dep on hunger strike,
and my belly bad.

Me sorry about the smell still,
but them things soon pass, man.

Me give you a little space, yeah.

Anything you want just...
just help yourself.

Do you want to end up in hell?
Is that what you want?

'Cause that's precisely what's going
to happen if you carry on playing up.

Now, I know you've been fighting.

You get up them stairs and wash them
dirty little hands before dinner.

And you go straight to bed.

I don't want to hear a word
from you tonight, you understand?

Yes, Aunty.

Alec Alphonso Wheatle,

born on the 3rd of January, 1963.

Alphonso, an illegitimate child,

was received into care under section one
of the Children's Act 1948

on the 17th of April, 1964,

as the private foster mother with whom
he was placed by his putative father

was unable to continue caring for him.

His mother, Mrs. G,
a married woman,

deserted him at birth.

He was placed
in a council nursery initially

and transferred in February 1966

to the children's home
where he is now living.

On admission he was suffering
from severe eczema,

but this has improved,
and he is making good progress.

Alphonso's mother has had
no contact with him since birth.

Oh, Jah!

Cha.

Wheatle's wet his bed again.

- Aunty!
- Shut up!

You dirty little bastard.

Ow!

As if I don't do enough for you.

I'm sick to death
of your disgusting behavior.

What have I done to deserve you?

You are a horrible, nasty little boy!

Jah!

How many fucking times, dread?

You can't use the shitter in the yard
instead of stinking out this place?

Me not proud, you know, youth.

Me say sorry once,
me say it again.

Dirty fucking rasta.

You're lucky I don't fuck you up.

Fuck me up?

You'd better fuck me up good, you know.

Anyhow you left me standing,
I finish your life.

Joker dread.

As if you could do me.

Listen.

Calm yourself, youth.

Calm yourself.

What me say? Huh?

Listen, listen. Calm yourself.

All right, all right, all right.

All right, my youth. All right, man.
All right, all right.

Listen, man. I want to hear.
What is your story?

- My story?
- What?

I ain't got no fricking story!

All right. All right. All right.

All right, man. All right.
All right.

Listen.

Have all night, you know.

All night, me have.

And my ears is fully open.

Huh? So just start at the beginning.

- What do you call it?
- Reggae music.

What, the song?

Nah, not the song.
Why, you like it?

I love it.

Turn that coon, wog crap off.

We ain't in Africa now.

What you gonna do, fool?

Don't worry about him.

Listen to the lyrics, man.
Cool down your temper.

I'm not scared of that dickface.

Shut your mouth, before I fill it for you.

- Wheats, back down.
- Fight! Fight! Fight!

- Wheats!
- Have him! Fucking have him!

Go on. He's stuck, man.

- Oi!
- Teachers, teachers, teachers!

Get off me.
Get the fuck off me.

Get off me!

Oi. Oi!

Fuck's sake.

Fucking kill you!

Fuck off and take that
shit music with you.

- Get him out of here.

Don't make it worse for yourself.

Shut up!

Come here. Come here, come on.

Stay there, monkey!

Our castaway this week is a writer

of short stories, of children's books
and of screenplays: Roald Dahl.

Could you adjust yourself
to isolation, on an island?

Very easily, yes.

I look for it more and more
in my life today.

I hate to say it, but I would love it.

How much does music mean to you?

It means a great deal, but not in a,
not in a professional way.

In the old days, before I was married,

I never used to start writing
in the morning

before putting on some very great music,

like a Beethoven quartet, uh,
and sit and listen to it in,

in the hopes that some of this
greatness would rub off on me

and that I would, uh, write...

as a matter of fact it helps quite a lot
because it is impossible...

Shut the gate.

These are your keys. Don't lose them.

These are the rules. Learn them.

Any questions? Good.

Fuck my frigging days.

Man seen bwai fall from outer space

looking less like him claffy. To rarted.

Wha? What?

A blowoh. No tomfoolery.

Are you cuckoo or are you the beast?

Dennis, behave yourself.

The man is only ramping with you.

Don't listen to his chats.

I'm Dawn.

My room's just over there.

It's Alex, innit?

You seriously busting P.V.C.?

Frig my days. He is.

He's wearing P.V.C.

From where on this earth did you land?

Shirley Oaks. In Surrey.

Surrey? And they dress you there
with garms made by the farm animals?

You got any corn?

You got any corn?

I've got some Pot Noodle
they sent me off with.

- Oh, God. Oh, Lord.

Who the, who the fuck is this boy. Eh?

Money, man. Money.

"Corn" is money. You got money?

Why?

Leave him money alone.

I just want to take the poor sap
shopping, innit.

Otherwise next man will jump on him
and mash up his claat.

Don't worry about the corn, Mr. P.V.C.

And just meet me outside in two.

And just lose the jacket.

You understand?

You see that?

- He's hearing, but he's not listening.
- Just get out.

Now, crook ya ear, Mr. P.V.C.

Whatever man say,

never trod into Dunn & Co.

That's where them dirty graybacks shop.

I ain't ramping, you understand?
This is serious.

You see that? That's Farah.

Like what I is modelling.

Anything Farah is on target.

Cha! You're not ready yet.

And we have a priority
more pressing than slacks.

Come, come. Let's trod.

Soon come, brethren.
Soon come. Hm?

A blowout Afro, him want. A blowout.

Him speak?

Of course him speak.
Just give him a blowout now.

Man have to ask if he want a blowout.

All right. Alex,
tell him you want a blowout.

I want one. A blowout, yes.
Absolutely. I want one.

So wha' you say?

Don't start 'pon me, dread.

So many youth get bust up in a cell.

Something gonna snap, man.
Y' hear what happened to Coffin Head?

Mm-hmm.

Beastman arrest him outside the Kentucky,

throw him in a cell, broke up him nose
and boot up him ribcage.

For what?

Man and man want life for life.

That's what them Brixton Panther
man say, innit.

Things are gonna blow up.

You hear what blow up?

Filthy Rocker's valve amplifier
in the dance!

People was vexed!

Girl on the street cussing up the boxboys,

but they can't get no cab
to take them to the next dance.

You follow any of the sound system?

But I do love reggae music.

Whaa! See, all the African man
love reggae.

Wha' is in our blood.

- I'm not African.
- Come again?

- I'm not African, I'm...
- Ah dread, you is African.

I'm not. I might be Black,
but I'm from Surrey.

- Oh, God.
- Bwai!

Him cuss cuss in here.

Babylon have you washed.

Babylon have your brain
in the Fairy Liquid.

- Who's Babylon?

Where'd you get this youth from?
And what this youth chatting about?

Who's Babylon? Babylon not a person.

It's de politrickster and the system
that oppresses all Black people.

So where is it on the map?

Man just arrive in Brixton today.
Or just planet Earth, I dunno.

Bwai, you have to find your roots.

Alexander the Great Jokerman.

Boy, you have to find out
who the fuck you is.

Yes, I. You all right?

Hail Selassie.

Selassie-I. All right.

What's wrong?

Beast. Get ready to bolt.

What, why?

What you doing, man?

You seriously are frigging cuckoo.
You can't do that?

Do what?

Fuck with the beast round here.

They'll mash you up worser
than any badman.

- No, they won't!
- What?

They're here to help you.

What? Yes, they will.

They will too, Wheats.

Them truncheon butt de sufferer.

On this I really ain't ramping, man.

About to chip for me life.

About to run, man.

Oh. I can't run in these shoes.
I've got really bad blisters.

Aah.

Floyd call it correct. You is a jokerman.

Come, come, let's trod.

You like them shoes there?

- Yeah.
- Try it on, man.

- You'll look cool in those, mate.
- All right, bruv, try those.

Mmm. That's it.

How they feel?

Yeah. Good but...

- Comfortable?
- Yeah, but...

Yeah, all right, all right.

All right, blow man.

- What? What did you say?
- Fucking leg it, Wheatle!

But I haven't tied my laces yet.

Oi! Where you going? Oi! Come here!

Cup your hand.

It make your mouth dry,
but give you a nice, slow buzz.

I have smoked before, you know.

So give me three quid
and the rest of the collie's yours.

Yeah, man.

Come, come. let's trod.

Wa-gwan?

Can I give you 70p tomorrow
when I get my giro?

Nah, youth. How many time
me have to tell you?

- Return tomorrow.
- It will be gone by then.

Come on, Lincoln. I spend all my money
in here every week. Please.

Dennis!

Hey, Dennis. Hi, man.

What happen to you, man?
Don't use me name, dread.

Who's selling the weed, then?

Why have you made
the frigging announcement, man?

What's wrong with you, eh?

Come. Come, let's trod, man.

Careful of the car, Dennis.

Shut up, man. Come.

- All right me-dog.
- You good?

- Me cool.
- Yeah, man, yeah, man, yeah, man.

Can I have a draw, please?

Now, where the fuck
this youth come from?

Him cool, man. Him safe.

I have some corn.

Yo, yo, yo, listen.

You know how many man get jook up
on this road for little more than nothing?

Eh?

Yo, remove you.

Me said remove you.

Badger.

You known me from time, man.

Give my spar a £2 draw,
and be happy for the business.

Hmm?

Him safe, man.

Only 'cause true you is my brethren.

Respect.

Come.

Here's the money.

Respect.

All right, now the two of you, now...
Fuck off.

You got to be more Brixton, Wheats.

You been here six month,
and you not learn nothing.

Like blurting out me name for every
undercover beast to take note.

What am I supposed to call you, then?

Maybe dread, or brethren, or spa.

Or I don't fucking know.

And you want to let go of that
frigging bumpkin walk too.

You walk like that scarecrow on the TV.

Shut up.

Nah, you have to strut
as a Black man strut.

Any dread can spot you from a mile.

Now we have to chat about the money side,

but I can learn you a few things.

I just spent all my corn.

If me a teach you, me have to have
compensation for me time.

You understand.

I've got 30 pence.

Thirty pence?

That is satisfactory for a few pointers.

Now walk.

Lift up your head, man,
and slow it down, Wheats.

You is marching like you
the Stormtrooper hunting the Jedi.

You got to be the Jedi doing
the hunting of the Stormtrooper.

What are you blinking talking about?

You sound like
the rarse baldhead, man.

"What are you
blinking talking about?"

Well, fuck you, Dennis.

I ain't had no one teach me
jack shit in my life.

A mum or dad, brother or sister,
no one my whole life.

I ain't had nobody.

I is only ramping with you, brethren.

The truth?

I can't know how deep your pain.

You're the real thing, man. No hyping.

But I always kept eyes out for you,
innit, Wheats?

Listen to me. Christmas soon 'pon us,

and my mother puts on a serious spread.

You want to come sample
the Jamaican jam on the day?

I don't like Christmas.

What? 'Nuff boiled chicken, rice and peas,

roast potatoes, stuffing, hot corn...

All right, all right. As long as you
quiet your beak about it.

You'll come? Yeah?

Yeah.

I'm warning you:
all my family are a bit... mad up.

It'll be good for you.

Now me reckon me owe you
10p off this lesson.

You was proving be
faster learner too, Wheats.

But, I... I'll hold onto that

because that's gonna be
20p for your next lesson, innit?

It's like a little deposit, yeah?

Head high. Chest out.

♪ Jah would never give power ♪

♪ To a bald head ♪

♪ Run come crucify the dread ♪

Hey.

Hurry up, man.

Come.

Happy Christmas, Mummy.

You just come. Where you been?

Food cook long time.

Hi, Sylvia. This is my spar, Alex.

Fix him up a drink first, eh.

Is me for fix it?

Come, sit down.
Everybody, this is Alex.

Can you hold the baby?

So, your parents Jamaican?

I don't think so, no.

What do you mean,
you don't think so?

Where they from, then?

Anyway...

give me the baby.

Very cold start.

Look, tell me how the garage is going.

The garage is going good family.

I got a Cortina
I just picked up last week.

All right. That's good.

I need you to come round,
help me do some work on it.

Yes... how's your football going?

I heard about it.
Four-nil, you lot lose.

Hold that.
Secret family recipe, you know.

Hi, Uncles. What's going on, Uncle?
You good?

Yeah, man.
Can't wait to have some yam.

Who want food, come now.

Guys, come get your food.

- Coming, Aunty.
- Coming, Mum.

My mother give me
one piece of chicken, man.

How much piece of chicken
you get?

You got one.
You got two piece? What!

There you go, that's yours.

Come out of my seat, man.
Come out of seat, boy. Move.

You want more gravy?

Is it spicy?

You nuh like spice? It's all right.

Me can get you some drink from the tray.

No. No, thank you.
It looks delicious.

What happen to you?
Take your time.

The food no have no legs.

Your mother not cook for you?

Sometimes.

Sometime?

Sometime me no know why me bother.

Me 'dep on hunger strike.

Ten days now, you know. Hm.

If them can serve halal and kosher,
they must can serve ital.

- Huh?

Me believe fighting
for that is worth all sufferation.

But, bwai, it wreak havoc
with my belly, you know.

And for that, me sorry
till me can't sorry no more, my youth.

Why are you even here, dread?

I was arrested at the gates
of Westminster Abbey,

with a pickaxe, big so.

Me tell the judge
me intent 'pon destroying

the tomb of Edward the Confessor.

In retaliation for the desecration

of all of the Egyptian king
by the European man.

Me done gon' broke it up!

He give me six months.

So, you're serious
about your stuff, then, innit?

Rasta is not, is not a religion.
Is my life.

What are you writing?

Why you ask me that?

No reason.

Me write some.

Just notes, man.
I don't really have the talent.

What me blessed with
is for the love of reading.

Reading's what shaped my life.

Is that your family?

Yeah. The woman in the white dress
are me mother.

The minister's sister.

Keep in touch?

Not for a long while now, no.

Cha.

Enough about me now.

Me never suffer like you, you know.

You know how me end up
in the prison, right?

So come on, youth man,
what happened to you?

- I took a wrong turn.
- No, man.

Listen up, now.
Not one man, woman or a child

ever learnt anything in life

without making a mistake.

For me, it was always about the music.

That was it, dread.

♪ One good thing about the music ♪

When it hits you...

♪ You feel no pain
Yeah ♪

♪ Me say one good thing about the music ♪

♪ When it hits you
you feel no pain ♪

♪ Come and say hit me with music ♪

♪ Come and say hit me with music now ♪

♪ 'Cause dis a Trenchtown rock ♪

♪ Don't watch that Trenchtown rock ♪

♪ Big fish or sprat ♪

♪ Trenchtown rock
You reap what you sow ♪

♪ Trenchtown rock
Only Jah-Jah know ♪

Jah know the gong speak!

Yeah, my youth. Come here, man.

Yes, my youth.

Have corn for these, but not this one.

Can you keep it for me,
just for a couple of days?

Irie. You have until Friday. Safe.

- Respect, Lincoln.
- Respect.

You is too fat. You can't see
how you need church?

Fat, stinkin' dog.

You is a scrawny little rat boy,
you know that?

You not see how your trouser,
them a burst out?

Look how your head
big like bread fruit, dog.

- Big like bread fruit?
- Eh?

You know what, you look like some
sewer rat, you know. You know that?

Dog, you is the fattest man
in Brixton. You know that?

And guess what? Me still take
your girl, you know. You know that?

- You can't take my girl.
- I can't? Ask her.

You can only take my girl McDonald, dog.

- And what, that's...
- Listen, you is a sausage dog.

Brethren, you see your nose?

You're like Blackwall Tunnel or something
like that, you know what me say?

You is a dumpling.

And I'll squash you, brethren.
I destroy you.

- You is a Jamaican panda.
- A Jamaican panda?

Shut the fuck up, man,
before me chop off your two lip them

and make two imitation sausage
out of them... to rart!

Say it!

- Me?
- Yes, fat man.

You must be mad, you know.

I'm not mad, you is just fat.

Frig my days.

Valentine Golding!

Come find you, innit.

Welcome, sir.

- What, you did all this?
- Mm-hmm.

Check my new suitcase.

Philips 423.

Dread, how you lay your hands
on this record?

Spent every penny of my G-checks.

Me sometimes keep a lookout
for the bad men up on the line

to make a little extra corn.

Can still run fast, innit.
And the beast never seem to bother me.

Check this: Corn is money.

Ohh. Hey, that's
the skills man have to have.

Yes, man.

I knew it. You ain't changed.

I have.

A likkle bit.

You're mad, you know that, right?

- Ah, shut up.

All the leg-back's mine
you know, brethren.

Where's mine, man?

I keep telling you.
You're not ready, man.

Today's gonna be the best night,
I swear to god.

Aaahhh.

Mind yourself, dog.

That's Festus, Coxsone's operator.

- You telling me, brethren.
- Careful, man. Careful.

That's how much leg-back are going to be
in there, brethren with that bass, man.

Man, there's gonna be
every type of girl here.

Girl from North London. South London.

West London. Southeast London.

Raaahhh.

Me gone. Yo, baby, yo.

- Hold on. Whoa, whoa, whoa.
- One-fifty for coming in.

What you mean?

Give me one-fifty to come in,
otherwise fuck off. Move from the door.

Man, fuck this.

All the criss girls are with the soundman.

To get dem leg-back is simple.

Yeah. We need our own sound.

That's it.

That's right, man.

But we have to make it proper.
That's crucial.

Of course, dread.

To rarted.

We can call our sound
Crucial Rocker Sound System.

Crucial Rocker.

Crucial Rocker to rarted, yeah.

To rarted.

But we haven't got any equipment.

Ah, don't worry.

Me know where.

Thank you, Dawn.

In tune to the great boss sound
of Crucial Rocker.

- Flash up your lighter.
- Easy.

We want to have at least
a hundred watts a channel in the amp.

Then we can be nuff match for
Tupper King and all them dread heads.

We thiefed enough ply
for at least three boxes.

But you haven't got nothing
to put in them.

What a blowoh.
We never had nothing to start with.

Watch, this sound is gonna
be wicked and wild. Trust me.

♪ Wicked and wild ♪

♪ That's the sound of the underground ♪

♪ See me there in a Brixton town ♪

♪ Give the beastman a crucial pound ♪

- Eh!
- Crucial. Crucial.

♪ Wicked and wild ♪

♪ That's the sound of the underground ♪

♪ Give the beastman a crucial pound ♪

Fuck my days!

Eighteen.

Eighteen, twelve, twelve...

Frig, man!

There's a dog. There's a dog.

Hurry up! Move, man! Move!

Move, move.

Hurry up, man!

Fuck it!

I'm here to see Cutlass.

Is Cutlass there?

Mr. Rankin, I mean.

And what if him is?

Him might want chat a likkle business.

Wholesale business.

Youth.

I've come to talk business.

Take off your clothes.

What?

Take off your clothes.

Take off your brief.

I ain't carrying no wire, dread.

I ain't no undercover beast.

Who control Moa Anbessa sound?

Beres.

Who are the mic men then
for Front Line International?

Welton Youth and Silver Fox.

Who run tings down by Villa Road?

Soferno B.

Who operate the sound?

Big Youth.

But some man call him Chabba.

All right. Still me question your dialect.

Your accent sound too English.
But all right, my youth.

How much collie you want?

Half ounce, dread.

But the brethrens I sell to
smoke top-ranking bush.

You know the runnings!

What name them call you,
my youth?

My friends call me Wheats.

My sound is gonna be called
Crucial Rocker.

Irie, a'ight.
Crucial Rocker.

Next time you want to
make your order don't forward here.

Call this number.

Pull up your brief now.

Youth!

I like your jacket.

Aaah! Crucial Rocker.

Big Wheats, me no have no weed left,

so me need three ounces, all right?

Three ounces, and just come
link me back next week,

I deal with you proper.
I give you something nice, all right?

Nah, I don't know about that one, Badger.

What you mean,
you don't know about that?

You see the road, big man, you have
to know everything about everybody.

Yeah, but if I give them three ounces,
how do I know you'll give 'em back to me?

Oh, you know me, I give it back.

Boy, me look like criminal to you?

You think that me ever rob big Wheats?

- Yeah, yeah, whatever, Badger.
- What happened to ya, dog?

I need to go pee, all right?
Wait there, yeah?

Come back and we talk
some real business, yeah?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah.
- Go on, man.

- You got any gear?
- What ya talk about, big man?

Yo, yo, move from me, man.
What ya...

- Come here.
- Yo, get the fuck off me!

Come here, you!

- Get in the van!
- Fuck! Get the fuck off me!

Get in the van. Get him in!

That's a nice jacket, nig-nog.

Fuck off, bacon.

- Something to say?

Something to say?!

Fucking black bastard,
he's got a long walk home.

They never learn, do they?
They never learn.

♪ Me walk 'pon Acre Lane
inna freezing rain ♪

♪ Watch out behind you
Watch out ♪

♪ Me sight two beastmen
Swear they were insane ♪

♪ Watch out behind me
Watch out ♪

Just chill now, brethren.

Tell her hair look nice,
that kind of thing.

The needle's stuck, dread.

School finish, and I don't want you
to have to teach me so many things

when I know so many
rarted things about you.

If I were to blab, you'd have to walk down
the street with a bag over your head

and a serious muff covering them ears,

'cause the laughter all round would
drown out even Shaka speaker box.

- Hm!

Come on. Let's trod.

Look at this little ras youth.

- Hi, come on in! You all right?
- How are you?

- Thank you for coming.
- All right.

And this is Alex's sound.

Crucial Rocker.

- And Val's as well, innit?
- Hm.

Innit a ting?

Yeah, they thiefed every bit of it.

Not the vinyl, man.

Not thiefed any of the gold.

- But they make it all themselves.
- Mm-hm.

Innit, Alex?
With like, a big saw and that.

You gotta hear him MC.

Mm.

Katrina know one of them girl
who dead in the fire.

The thing in New Cross last week?

Yeah.

Everyone was chatting about it
at the dance last night.

Maybe thinking one of them
National Front boy would come

and fling a petrol bomb
inna the dance or somethin'.

How many dead now?

Thirteen.

Thirteen youth dead...

and nothing being said.

And 30 more injured or in hospital.

Them all kids, man.

And they have made no arrests.

That's why the people, them are so vex.

There's talk of some kind of march
if the beast don't do nothin'.

A march if they're lucky.

We're in the middle of a friggin' war.

And nobody sight who did it.

Nobody? It was dark and one minute
everybody wining and dining.

And the next?

The next, the yard just catch alight
from a petrol bomb?

It's a serious business!
Something ah snap!

That's what them
Brixton Panther man say, innit?

Something ah snap.

Oh, me love this tune!
Come on!

Yeah, man!

Boy, her leg demanding a stroke.

Now your chance, Wheats.

Well, do your thing man, come on.

Don't let me down, brethren,
do your thing.

Come on, you're embarrassing me.
Do your thing, man.

Brethren!

Come on, look at that leg-back, man.
Do your thing!

Have you had a good time?

You let me down, brethren.

You let us all down.

We bring you to meet a fit girl and you
don't even say two words to her?

Whatever the matter with you?

She was never going to be interested
inna nobody like me.

Cha! That's what I'm talking about.

Talk like that, and you are never even
catch them leg-backs who are troggs.

Shut your frickin' beak, man,
before I shut it for you!

You know nothing about me, dread.

Now get the fuck out.

We didn't know ourselves
could have happened, you know.

Anytime. Anywhere.

Fire don't it happen to we
and the nations them are ready.

But in spite a all that,
everybody was still shocked

when we get the cold facts
about that brutal attack,

when we find out 'bout the fire
over New Cross.

'Bout the innocent life dem were lost.

'Bout the physically scarred,
the mentally marred,

and them relatives who take it so hard.

And you know, although plenty people
were surprised,

they no say them kind of thing there
could of happened to we

inna this here Great Britain,
inna London today.

And a few get frightened
and a few get subdued.

Almost everybody had to sympathize

with the loved ones of the injured
and the dead.

For this here massacre
that we come to realize

it could have been me,
It could have been you,

or one of few pickney dem

who fell victims to the terror by night.

But wait. You not remember

how the whole of Black Britain
did wrack with grief,

how the whole of Black Britain
did turn a melancholy blue.

Not the possible blue
of the murderer's eyes,

but like the smoke of gloom
on that cold Sunday morning...

...what start.

You no remember

how the whole of Black Britain
turned a fiery red.

Not the callous red of the killer's eyes,

but red with rage
like the flames of the fire.

It's a hell of a something fe true,
you know.

What a terrible price
we have to pay though, man,

just fe live a little life.

Just fe struggle to survive.

Every day is just worries
and struggle and strife.

Imagine so much young people
cut off inna dem prime,

before the twilight of them time,

without no reason nor rhyme,

cast in the shadow of gloom
over our life.

Look how the police and the press

try dem desperate best
to put a stop to a quest for the truth.

You 'member?
First them say it could be arson,

then them say it could be not.

First them say a firebomb,
then them say it was not.

Them implied coulda white,
them implied coulda Black

who response for the attack
against those innocent young Blacks.

Instead of raising the alarm,
let the public know wagwan.

Plenty paper print pure lie

for blind your public eye.

And the police, them plot and scheme,

confuse and conceal.

Me hear seh
even the poor parents of the dead

them tried fe use.

But you know, in spite of them
wicked propaganda,

we refuse to surrender
to them ugly innuendo.

For up till now, not one of them,

neither Stockwell,
neither Wilson, nor Bell,

not one of them can tell we why,

not one of them can tell we who.

Who turned that night of joy
into a morning of sorrow?

Who turned the jollity
into a ugly tragedy?

Yo, Brixton on fire!

- Come on.

Babylon!

Go on then! Go on, you bastards!

- Rasclaat!

Go on, you fucking cunts!

- Fucking pigs!

Fucking Black cunt!
Fuck off!

Dutty Babylon!

Yeah, come on!

Come on let's go. Let's go.

- Fucking leggit!

Oi! Oi!

Let go of me!

You mother cunt, get off me!

Yardman Irie fresh from the war zone.

Man a man. What that friggin' smell?

Me a smell some rarse foulness in the air.

Yo, Yardman Irie need
to discover deodorant.

Me feel sick.
Him stink like cabbage water.

And you're put politetities upon it.
Man, you reek like rancid baby nappies.

- Shut the fuck up, dread.
- You say what?

It was either that or to get mash up
in a beast cell, to rarted.

You come here reeking like ghetto sewage.
Remove from this yard with speed!

Let man take some collie.
Please, man.

Next time me see you,
me want me money.

Now remove.

Come here and stink up me yard.

What me tell you
about that youth, you know.

What you think about this one?

- Mm.
- ♪ Uprising ♪

♪ There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have... ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no... shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

In tune to the great
boss sound of Crucial Rocker.

This one goes out
to all the revolutionary foot soldier.

Flash up your lighter if you there
in the uprising.

- To the murder of Blair Peach.

The New Cross fire.

And then today, the 11th of April, 1981,

where Babylon took a rarseclaat beating.

If you were there, so bawl forward!

- Forward! Forward!

Forward! Forward!
Forward! Forward!

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising
There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work
and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more
of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

Get... Oi! Get him up, get him up!

Get him out of here. Check that room.

Check that room over there.
Take him down.

Right, get up!

Fucking pigs! Move, man!

- Get off me!
- Get off him!

Get inside now. Get inside.

- Aaah!
- Get the fuck off me!

Oi, shut it! Shut up.

Get off me!
I didn't do nothing. This is a...

Me say to you...

you might feel sorry and blame yourself
for them things there,

but there is plenty of tribulations

and ways for dealing with dem ting.

And education, me can give you.

That is your key.

- And why would you do that?

My thoughts long been trained
upon the youth, man.

I have to play my part
'cause me know the future is yours.

Some future, dread.

For all the youth outside that window,
it's the dole office

and the inside of a beast cell,
and that's it.

Free yourself
from the negativity, Alex, man.

You been lied to about fe we people. Hm?

- Enough of that, man. Cha. Listen,

I want tell you about the system
in here, yes.

So listen me, and listen me carefully.

There's enough talk of ism
and schism and racism.

Me no defend nobody
against the charge of racism,

'cause Rasta don't discriminate.

But the main thing you have to worry
about in this here country

is the system of class and classism.

When the children of Africa
was dragged to the West, hm?

It's 'cause of money.

'Cause of the cheap labor
benefitting the upper classes.

Lining them pockets. Hm?

All know the system, still,

still... the poor little pickney
them inna the inner-city school,

them cannot make much progress.

Otherwise who gonna
build them house, hm?

Who gonna drive them bus, hm?

Some of them make it through, yes,
but only a few of them.

And that is why me keep going on
about education.

Education.

You have to supplement what them
teach you by teaching yourself.

Teaching how then, man?

You have to unlearn what you have learned.

And you can start by reading.

Reading the scholars of fe we people.

That will turn your life around.

You see? Look.

You saw all them book, yeah? Hm?

You see them?

From this day,

every single one of them book
now belongs to you.

And me can recommend you start
by reading...

this here one here, so.

The Black Jacobins,

by Cyril Lionel Robert James.

Jah know him will show you the way!

Education, Alex.

Education is the key!

Hear me now? Alex.

You see, if you don't know your past,

then you won't know your future.

You see,
if you don't know your past,

then you won't know your future.

Just a moment.

Excuse me one minute.

- Welfare and Social Services.

Uh-huh.

Twenty-seventh of the eighth, 1976.

Report on Alphonse Wheatle.

Date of birth: third of the first, 1963,

Holly House, 121 Wickham Road.

House Mother, Miss Joyce Cook.

In Shirley since
aged three and a half years.

Initially had severe eczema and asthma
and needed intensive treatment.

Both conditions now better.

He's not had an asthmatic attack
for a year.

Chief problem now, daytime enuresis.

None at night.

Lonely boy, but gets involved in sports
and general activities.

Because of his sullen indifference,

house mother says she finds it
difficult not to pick on him.

Recently he accused her of not caring,

but Martin Jones
promptly stuck up for her.

Mr. Hutton, social worker,
came fortnightly for a year,

but got no response at any time
from Alphonse's relatives.

Shirley High School.

He gets good reports and appears to take
an interest in a wide range of subjects.

Spoke of liking German, French,

English, Maths, Science, and Drama.

Alphonse, one Saturday night recently,

came down and said
they did not help him at school.

The excellent German teacher interestedly
asked repeatedly about his mother

and did not know
about his parental situation.

Wheats!

Wheats, what happened to you?
It's me, dread.

It's Badger. Yes, me spar.

Jesus Christ. You look good, to rarted.

Badger, it's good to see you, dread.

- How's tricks?
- Bwai?

Yeah, man. Tricks.

You beg you some money now?

Nah, sorry, dread.

Come on.
Give me a few pounds, my man.

I haven't got anything.

It's good to see you, though.

Yeah, man,
it's good to see you too, man.

Mm.

So, um, what you do, hm?

What's the Wheats
doing with himself?

Dunno, dread.

Not much.

I think I might go and find my family.

Rarted!

For real? Fuck.

Yeah.

And maybe try and write a book.

Writin'. Shut the fuck up, me...

Me, me, me...

me have a typewriter for you, you know.

Brand-new. It still work and everything.

It still does work, man.
Trust me, it still work.

And you can have it for a special price.

'Cause you is Yardman Irie.

Ten pound.
Ten pound and it's yours!

Hm?

- Go on.
- Come now, man.

- Let's trod.
- What happen to you, man?

Dry your eye now. It's a big man hug.

- Long time me no see you.
- Good to see you, man.

- Yes, brethren. You want some?
- Nah, you're good.

Brethren, drink the drink
and I'll walk with you.

- I'm all right.
- You sure?

- Yeah, man.
- All right.

Good to see you, though.

If you like this typewriter
me a gonna get for you.

- It's a real thing, it is a proper...
- All right, all right.

- It's just round the corner there.
- It better be good, though.

You see the girl there?